First Of Her Kind (Book 1)

by K. L. Schwengel

  He sounded drained, and Ciara studied his face. His eyes were shadowed, with deep lines etched at their corners. She shook her head. "I have my earth magic back thanks to you. I can at least start it mending and ease the pain."

  He sighed and looked about to object, then changed his mind. "Nothing more."

  "Nothing more," Ciara agreed. She took his hand and stood. "You should lie by the fire."

  Ciara's stomach knotted as Bolin did as she directed. It seemed -- unnatural -- for him to be so quietly agreeable. She sat with him, taking his head in her lap and smoothing the damp hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes and Ciara felt the tension slide from him as she called up her earth magic and began to weave the threads of a spell that would start healing the wound. His chest rose and fell in a deep, steady cadence and the strain left his face. Ciara added in words to fight off infection and to calm the fever brewing in him. When she would have searched out other injuries, Bolin reached up and drew her hand from his forehead.

  "Enough."

  "You need-"

  He opened his eyes, rolling them back to look up at her. "Enough."

  She frowned. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as stubborn as you."

  "I have."

  Ciara made a face, but stopped short of sticking out her tongue. She slid out from under him and went to tend the fire, piling more wood on it before finding a relatively comfortable spot to stretch out beside it. Bolin had curled one arm back under his head and closed his eyes. Ciara could feel the thrum of magic like a soft breeze in the dark as he drew from the pendant to set the wards. He should have been using some for himself.

  "Bolin?" Ciara knew he wouldn't give in to sleep that quickly, if at all, and couldn't fight the urge to ask at least one of the questions buzzing in her head. "Is the Goddess really your mother?"

  "Rumor has it," he replied without moving.

  "You mean you don’t know?"

  He rolled his head on his arm to look at her, and the firelight reflected in his eyes. "Did you know who your father was?"

  "Well, no," she said. "But that’s different."

  "How so?"

  "A lot of people don’t know who their fathers are, but usually everyone knows their mother. Who raised you?"

  "Many people."

  "You don’t have a family?"

  "Not as such. No." He rolled his head back, but his eyes remained open, staring at the sky. "As an infant I was raised on the Isle. Much of my youth was spent in Galys Auld before going into the service of the Emperor. I was not all that much younger than you are now."

  Which statement begged another question. "How old are you?"

  He turned his face back to her. "Older than you." A ripple of humor touched his voice.

  "And you never took a wife?"

  The humor vanished, and he stiffened and looked away.

  Goddess’ light, could Ciara be more of a dolt? "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

  "You should get some rest, Ciara." He sounded angry, but not at her. "We’ll need to leave before sunrise."

  She wanted to kick herself. Donovan had been right. If she couldn't control her mouth, how could she ever hope to control her magic? She had learned more about Bolin in one short conversation than she had over the course of three years. Then, as usual, she had pushed too far, and he had shut her out. By everything holy and not, she really needed to work at holding her tongue.

  It would surprise a whole long list of people if she could actually manage it.

  * * *

  A mental nudge to wake quietly but lie still invaded Ciara's sleep. She lay on her side facing the glowing remains of the fire, her arm numb from being twisted behind her head. Bolin hunkered down beside her. She could feel the tension in the hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he stared off into the night.

  "What's wrong?" Ciara whispered.

  "We need to go," he said, his voice pitched low enough Ciara had to strain to hear him. A trickle of unseen fingers raced across her skin as his wards trembled. His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder. "Stay here."

  He slipped away without a sound, the thick, preternaturally still night swallowing him. Ciara climbed to her feet, suppressing a groan as stiff muscles unknotted. Sandeen stood on full alert behind her, his ears flicked ceaselessly, and he shifted from foot to foot.

  Not all that long ago Ciara would have mistaken the slight waver in the air as an errant breeze. Now she recognized it as the pulse of magic being used. She jumped as a nerve rending screech ripped through the night, followed by stark silence. A silence punctuated by an impatient snort from Sandeen when it stretched too long. Ciara waited, poised on the edge of flight, her pulse pounding. She strained her ears to hear, and glanced over her shoulder at Sandeen. When she turned back Bolin had returned.

  He went quickly to Sandeen without a look or word to her, slipped the bit into the stallion's mouth, and cinched the girth tight.

  "What was out there?" Ciara asked, peering into the increasingly unnerving night.

  "A scout."

  Ciara swallowed hard. "Donovan's?"

  "No." And the way Bolin said the word suggested it would have been better for them if it had been.

  He stepped back from Sandeen, and held the stirrup to indicate Ciara should mount. She opened her mouth to object, then just as quickly shut it again, and clambered into the saddle. Bolin laid a hand on her knee.

  "If anything happens," he said, "stay with Sandeen. He'll keep you safe."

  She frowned down at him but didn't argue, practicing her newly acquired self control.

  "Ciara?"

  "Right," she said with a nod, and tried hard to keep any hint of sarcasm or irritation out of her voice. "Stay with Sandeen."

  Bolin gave her a long, piercing gaze as though she had just sprouted horns out of the center of her forehead. Then he swung up behind her, not even touching the stirrups. His arms slipped around her to gather up the reins, and Sandeen leapt forward without warning thrusting Ciara back against Bolin. She instinctively jerked herself forward and for a while tried to balance at the front of the saddle to escape the intimacy the alternative forced on them. But it felt awkward and made her bounce, and she finally had to give in and slide more snugly into the circle of Bolin’s arms. Goddess's light, she hoped he didn’t notice the rapid beating of her heart, and if he did, she prayed he attributed it to fear and nothing more.

  A warbling, discordant wail rose up faintly behind them. Sandeen snorted and tossed his head as he leaned into the bit. Bolin swore under his breath. Ciara felt him rise up slightly and turn to look behind them. The wail undulated upwards, joined by another, much closer than the first.

  "Bolin?"

  "Stay with Sandeen. No matter what happens."

  "What is it?"

  "Swamp hounds."

  She couldn't distinguish how many voices were added to the next barrage of yowling. They tumbled over one another in a chaotic chorus, the pitch rising to new, frenetic heights.

  "They're hunting us, aren't they?" The realization made it impossible to keep her voice steady.

  Bolin’s lack of a reply gave answer enough.

  Ciara startled at the proximity of the next cry. It ripped through the night, coursing along her nerves. The hounds were gaining quickly even with Sandeen's breakneck pace. The stallion whirled suddenly, rearing back and striking out with his front hooves. If it hadn’t been for Bolin seated firmly behind her, Ciara would have been on the ground. She had no chance to see the fate of whatever Sandeen struck at, but she could guess. She’d seen how lethal those hooves could be. He spun again, pivoting on his powerful hindquarters, and screamed in rage.

  "Take these." Bolin shoved the reins into Ciara's hands. "Stay with Sandeen. If you get the chance, give him his head. Trust him. He’ll take you to Galys Auld."

  "I'm not leaving you." Ciara's resolve not to argue shattered like the long muzzled, sharp fanged head of the next creature Sandeen pummeled into the soft ground.

&nb
sp; But Bolin had already slid off Sandeen’s rump, and Ciara could do nothing but cling desperately to the saddle as the stallion pirouetted beneath her. Grey, dog-like shapes surrounded them, eyes glittering green as they closed in on their prey.

  * * *

  There were five of them in the first assault, not counting the ones Sandeen had already killed. Two flung themselves at Bolin without regard for their own survival. Both were dead before they got close, the small bit of magic they possessed turned back on them with such force nothing but smoldering hide remained. It served to give their three cohorts pause for reconsideration. They ranged themselves across the trail, pacing and whimpering.

  Waiting, Bolin realized.

  He shot a glance over his shoulder. Sandeen stood quivering a few paces off, Ciara on his back but still in danger.

  "Get out of here," he snapped, more at the horse than Ciara. "Now!"

  But they were already too late. As Sandeen turned to comply, several shapes slithered onto the trail behind him. Bolin turned away from those facing him, and rushed past the horse to press the attack. He swung his arm through the air, and called up the magic of Ciara’s pendant. When he brought his hand down his fingers gripped the hilt of a slender sword shimmering with magic. The hounds skipped back, one not as quick as the others.

  Bolin advanced as the remainder of the hunting party arrived behind him. Sandeen screamed in challenge and launched himself into their midst, Ciara a hapless passenger. Bolin willed him to be gone, but the hounds split into two groups. One encircled him, the other pressured Sandeen back, away from the fight, herding him down the trail. Bolin cursed at the stallion for picking now to exhibit a stubborn streak.

  The glimmering sword sliced through the night with deadly precision. But for every hound that fell, another bounded in from the shadows. A sudden surge from the forward group drew Bolin into the center of the trail. Before he could maneuver back a sharp pain shot through his left shoulder. He threw his weight forward, bending at the waist, and hurled the hound from his back, crying out as its fangs ripped from his flesh. Still, he managed to send enough of a magic bolt after the hound that it took out a handful of the others waiting in the trail. The ensuing confusion gave him enough time to regain his balance. If he went down he'd be a dead man.

  They pressed in, two or three charging him at once, giving no thought to the scattered remains of their pack mates. Bolin pivoted, and came up hard against an ancient oak as he fended off the attack. A glance down the trail showed him Sandeen and Ciara still hemmed in. The hounds in that group carefully avoided Sandeen’s hooves while they continued to push him back.

  Bolin shoved off the tree with a growl, and threw himself back into the melee with as little regard for the hounds as they had for themselves. But they fell back unexpectedly, giving him a wide berth, and one by one crept off the trail into the heavy shadows of the underbrush. Their eyes glittered hungrily in the night. Bolin straightened slowly, breathing hard, his left arm numb from the shoulder down. Something filled the space vacated by the hounds -- something similar, but much more massive. It sauntered forward on all fours until it reached the center of the trail. There it halted, and sat on its haunches as it studied Bolin.

  "You’re not so impressive," it said, the words thick and stilted, the tapered muzzle not suited for human speech.

  "No more so than you," Bolin replied.

  "No?" The creature rose onto its hind legs, a full two heads taller than Bolin, and wrinkled its black snout in a toothy grin. "How about now?"

  Bolin mirrored its expression. "You're in my way."

  "Move me."

  Bolin shrugged. "If you insist."

  But it attacked first, sending a bolt of magic at Bolin without so much as twitching a muscle. He deflected it into the underbrush, allowing a wicked grin to cross his face as the magic tore through the watching pack. In the same instant he pivoted to avoid the next bolt, and swung the blade in a low slice meant to miss its target. It had the desired effect. The hound stumbled backwards to avoid the ill-aimed assault and opened itself to a more pointed attack. But for all its bulk the creature moved with incredible speed. It spun out of the way, narrowly avoiding the thrust. Bolin ducked as his momentum carried him forward, and felt the breeze of a fistful of sharp claws whip through the space where his head would have been. As they passed one another, Bolin flipped the sword out to the side. He felt the impact all the way up his arm. He snatched at the magic that came running up the blade, and turned it back on its source. The hound roared. It grabbed at the sword, trapping it between its front paws as it toppled backwards, and yanked Bolin off his feet.

  Bolin hurtled through the air, and the sword dissolved like mist as he released it. He twisted in a desperate attempt to get his feet under him before he hit the ground, but his foot slipped as he landed, and he turned the fall into a roll. By the time he gained a crouch the hound had gotten to all fours, oozing blood, its face disfigured by pain and rage. Bolin barely had enough time to deflect the blast the creature leveled at him. He staggered to his feet, and returned the next one three fold, straight into where he hoped the creature kept its heart.

  The hound screamed and reared back, but still didn’t go down. By all the unholies, what would it take to kill the thing? Bolin sent another bolt into it, drawing on any magic he could grab. This time the beast dropped, writhing and twisting on the blood-soaked ground.

  The rest of the hounds slipped cautiously out of the underbrush, and circled their dying champion, as they jockeyed for position. The distraction gave Bolin the time he needed to gather up the bits of chaotic magic coming off them. By the time one of the hounds took notice of the man standing stock still in the center of the trail, Bolin had completed the deadly working. A hound threw itself, screaming, at him, followed by a handful of the others, but Bolin held his ground.

  When they were close enough to see the red glare of their eyes Bolin spoke two, quiet words. A cage of glittering magic snapped around all of them with a clap like thunder and began to draw in on itself. The hounds howled and wailed and then, quite simply, ceased to exist.

  Bolin sucked in a ragged breath in the shocking stillness that followed. A warm trail of blood seeped down his chest from the wound in his shoulder. He turned to look down the trail. No sign of Sandeen, and no sounds of battle to break the unsettling quiet of the night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ciara had no desire to abandon Bolin. But when Sandeen spun and leapt over the heads of the hounds encircling them in a reckless break for freedom, she could do nothing to stop him. She felt him shudder from the collision of bodies as the hounds threw themselves at him, all glittering fangs and deadly intent. He landed and veered sharply off the trail, dodging between trees Ciara couldn't even see. She couldn't do anything but cling desperately to his mane, the coarse hairs rubbing her knuckles raw.

  They ran for what felt like leagues, the hounds shadowing them. Ciara flattened against Sandeen's neck as she felt him gather himself beneath her. He launched into the air, stumbling when he landed. Ciara's feet slipped from the stirrups and she lurched forward with a gasp. She managed to keep her fingers twisted in Sandeen's mane as she somersaulted over his shoulder. She landed on her feet, and staggered back into the stallion’s heaving chest. The hounds closed in around them, ghostly shapes in the dim moonlight. They formed a circle around her and Sandeen, some sitting, some pacing restlessly, tongues lolling, and eyes glittering. Sandeen snaked his head past her shoulder, and snapped his teeth at them. But the hounds no longer pressed the fight. They had become as silent as the night.

  Sandeen pranced behind her. She could feel him quivering. He shook his head and pushed into her, but Ciara laid her hand on his shoulder to quiet him.

  A lone figure, squat and misshapen, moved just outside the ring of hounds. No taller than a child, it shuffled between them, trailing a stubby fingered hand idly over the head of the closest. Ciara could barely make out gnarled features in a round, beard-covered face
.

  "What do you want?" she asked. "I have no coins, if that's what you're after."

  "Got fancy horse," he said, and made a sound in his throat. "Mebbe I take him."

  "Try it," Ciara said, with more surety than she felt. Her stomach churned as the memory of the toothless man calling her a horse thief edged into her thoughts. She shoved it aside. "He'll crack your skull if you come close."

  The man snorted. "Not get close then. Don't want horse anyhow. Can't ride so well."

  Ciara shifted as he began to walk around them. The stallion pawed the ground, his ears slicked back against his head. The hounds remained still.

  "What do you want?" Ciara repeated, her voice wavering. She rubbed her palms on her thighs and wet her lips. Calling up her earth magic, she wrapped it around her words. "Go. Away."

  Several of the hounds whined, and pricked their ears. The man turned to watch as half of them stood and trotted off. He grunted. "Good trick. Not work on me."

  Ciara's blood went cold. The wilding stirred.

  "Please," she whispered. By all the unholies, not again.

  "We go," he said, and continued to walk around Ciara and Sandeen in a slow circle. As he did, he reached into a pouch at his waist and drew out a handful of the contents. He let the glittering sand slip through his fingers as he began to chant, keeping rhythm with his steps in a weird, hopping dance.

  "Stop it!" Ciara yelled. The wilding pushed upwards and Ciara flinched from the feel of it. She clenched her teeth. "I won't let you."

  But the words of the man's chant took shape in the air around her, glowing faintly. Ciara swatted at them as though they were flies. They slid through her and she shuddered at their touch -- like a dry caress across her skin. They swarmed around her earth magic, closer and closer, squeezing in from all sides, and Ciara cried out in pain as it shattered.

  Black flame, darker than the night surrounding them, leapt up where the sand fell. It licked without heat at Sandeen’s hooves. The stallion tried to step away, snorting and tossing his head when he couldn't lift his feet. The flames trailed around Ciara, and she felt Sandeen flinch violently as they slithered up his legs and across his back. He whinnied -- a shrill sound of fear mingled with anger. Ciara's head spun. Her breath tore at her throat in ragged gasps as she let out a shuddering sob.